


Florimond

by inquisitor_tohru



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Asphyxiation, Ballroom Dancing, Existential Angst, F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Mirror Sex, Oral Sex, Pillow Talk, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Rare Pairings, Sex Toys, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:10:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 4,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4427882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/pseuds/inquisitor_tohru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collecting my Erimond/Florianne drabbles here, in no particular order, for anyone else who enjoys this ridiculous villainous rarepair as much as I do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The one that started it all, thanks to a prompt from rad-puppeteer on tumblr (I swear this began as a joke)

“Are all magisters like you, I wonder?” He held his breath as Florianne’s delicate fingers brushed his cheek. Her nails were perfectly manicured, and sharp. “How _unlike_ you to be so quiet, Livius.” She smiled, like a snake, her other hand twisting in the fabric of his robes. “I may call you Livius? Given that we are so familiar.” _That ridiculous Orlesian accent would be his undoing._

“I suppose you may,” he muttered, trying in vain to maintain some measure of control as her hand slid between his legs. Her touch was gentle, teasing…so very unlike his usual encounters. 

“I trust you’ve managed to arrange an audience with your master,” she whispered, her breath like fire on his neck. He almost whimpered, and she quickened her pace.

“Of course. H-he will be waiting-” Her movements slowed to allow him to continue, but he was needy, _desperate_ , eagerly thrusting into her hand. Even with the heavy velvet of his robes between them, she could tell that he was already close. She forced herself to return his awful smile as he shuddered against her, but subtly turned her cheek as he tried to kiss her. _You actually thought I cared about you? You really must be new to the Game._

“Please, _do_ continue, Livius.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erimond may or may not have set an Orlesian nobleman's cloak on fire.

“I saw what you did over there,” she said, marching him out of the ballroom. He wasn’t sure what she intended, but her tone indicated trouble.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Florianne simply rolled her eyes.

“Livius, you are a _terrible_ liar. You are _reckless_. You are almost entirely without _tact_. And you have terrible taste in boots, but…” 

“These boots are made from the finest-”

“I don’t care. They’re hideous,” she said irritably, cutting short any possible objections with narrowed eyes. He frowned as she turned a corner, heading into one of the cloakrooms.

“Why are we-” Florianne shoved him against the wall, silencing him with her lips. She didn’t often kiss him, but when she did it was always like this. Fierce, passionate, almost _violent._

“I know _you_ set his cloak on fire,” she whispered. “And I know _why._ ”

“How could you? You were on the other side of the ballroom.”

“Because I know Lord Dufour. I know what he says about me. He is hardly…discrete.” she kissed him again, softer this time, her fingers grasping at his cloak. “And I know _you._ ” 

_“Kaffas,”_ he muttered. He thought he’d been more subtle than that.

“No one needs to know,” she smiled. “It can be our little secret.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later on the evening of the fiery cloak...

As she had expected, Erimond was suitably embarrassed when finally found him again in the ballroom. He’d managed to evade her for about half an hour, but naturally she knew the venues in Orlais much better than he did.

“Our guest from Tevinter doesn’t have a dance partner? How shameful! I must remedy this immediately.” Florianne smiled behind her jewelled mask, offering her hand. Even someone so abrasive as Erimond was not so impolite to deny her a dance. 

“I’d be honoured,” he replied. His expression, only partially hidden by a simple obsidian mask, said otherwise. She led him towards the centre of the room as the orchestra began to play _Empress of Fire._ She often wondered whether they knew how to play anything else. 

For a while, she simply danced, amused that he refused to look her in the eye, but when their steps brought them closer together, she seized the opportunity. 

“You must tell me,” she whispered, near enough to Erimond that her lips brushed against his ear when she spoke. “I’m curious, you see. Do you often ask women for their hand in marriage while you’re _making love_ to them in a cloakroom?” 

“I don’t-” he paused, to lower his voice after noticing a couple of looks his way. “ _No._ ”

“I see. I wondered if it was some kind of Tevinter courting ritual-” She stifled a laugh as he made a wrong step.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Erimond hissed. “I wasn’t thinking. Just forget about it.”

“Then you wouldn’t want to marry me? Now you hurt my feelings. No wonder magisters are so unpopular. Oh, Livius, you’re blushing.”

“I-it must be the wine,” he stuttered, though he doubted he would have convinced anyone, let alone Florianne.

“Well, make sure not to drink too much,” she warned as the song ended. “It could have…unfortunate implications later.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "awake". Somehow turned into fluff.

Erimond had decided he was not all that fond of goose feather pillows. It was hard enough for him to get to sleep in an unfamiliar bed without feeling as though his pillow was _consuming_ him. It also didn’t help that the room was freezing, thanks to Florianne insisting on opening all the windows before she went to sleep. 

He pushed the pillow aside, trying not to knock any of the clutter on the bedside cabinet. Why she needed to keep so many earrings by her bed, he had _no_ idea. Florianne stirred slightly as he shuffled towards her, kicking the covers away. Despite the cool night, her skin was unnaturally warm, her neck marbled with pink. 

“How are you so cold, Livius?” she murmured, rolling over to bury her face in the nook between his neck and his shoulder. _Because it’s midwinter, all the windows are open, and you keep pushing the blankets away._ He bit his tongue. “Is Tevinter really so much warmer?”

“I…hadn’t really thought about it. Come here,” he sighed, pulling her closer. As he made a sweeping gesture with his hand, small ice crystals formed at his fingertips. Florianne mumbled something that might have been “thank you” as he stroked her back, the crystals melting only seconds after touching her skin. One of them might as well be able to sleep tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "are you quoting something?" Their first meeting.

_“Parva leves capiunt animas,”_ he muttered, trying to ignore the conversation between the two nobles nearest to him as he sipped his wine. _Orlesian._ Of course it was. 

“Are you quoting something?” He turned to see a woman wearing an ornate butterfly mask, its wings extending beyond her shoulders. _Ridiculous._

“No,” he drank another mouthful of wine, trying to ignore the taste.

“Oh, I could have sworn I’d read it somewhere before,” she sat down in the empty chair beside him, plucking a little cake from the dining table. “I am a mere novice, of course, but Tevene is such a beautiful language. And such lovely poetry. _Cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quique amavit, cras amet.”_ Her pronunciation left much to be desired, but something about the way her voice sounded made him blush.

“That’s a proverb,” he said, looking down at his glass again to avoid watching as she ran her tongue very slowly along the pink frosting on her cupcake. It was much harder not to pay attention to the light touch of her hand on his thigh.

“Really? I suppose all Tevene sounds poetic compared to such a dull language as mine,” she smiled. “And I did warn you I was a novice. Perhaps I need someone to teach me. I hope _you_ wouldn’t be opposed to the idea, Lord..?”

“Erimond. Livius Erimond.” Perhaps he wouldn’t be _so_ very opposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: The "Tevene" quotes are Latin, since it was the most similar language I could think of, and translate (more or less) to “small things amuse small minds” and “May he love tomorrow who has never loved before; And may he who has loved, love tomorrow as well”, respectively.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt "blowjob". I think this is probably...a fairly rare occurrence.

In the darkness of her chambers, Florianne’s tongue flicked against the inside of his thigh, tracing slow shapes that he couldn’t quite make out. He clutched at one of the goose feathered pillows as he felt it glide over the length of his cock, in deliberate, measured strokes. He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it when sharp fingernails grazed against his hip.

Erimond hissed when she took him in her mouth, wishing he’d bothered to light a candle before they’d come to bed - not that he really had any cause for complaint. Her tongue swirled slowly around the head, while the hand not on his hip began to stroke him with tender, unhurried motions. Suddenly, she paused, silent and still for a moment, and then he noticed the familiar scent of singed feathers.

 _“Don’t_ ruin another set of pillows, Livius.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, as she made sure he removed his hands before returning her attentions to him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Combination of two prompts, one being "S/he doesn't understand you like I do" and the other being an anon's wish for me to write a fic "where Erimond gets jealous over Corypheus favouring Florianne and can't work out who he's more jealous of."

“She doesn’t understand you like  _I_ do,” Erimond pouted. The Master looked down at him with a quizzical expression, red lyrium flaring slightly. 

“Enough.”  _How is it that I succeed in finding such petulant followers?_  Devoted, perhaps, but petulant nonetheless.  _Unacceptable._ To his credit, the magister soon ceased his complaints and bowed deeply before leaving, Corypheus’ gaze lingering upon him.

Erimond was not surprised to find Florianne outside. She found the shrine’s interior oppressive, felt as though its walls could close in on her at any time. Yet still  _He_ could draw her in. He knew it was unbecoming of him to question his Master’s actions, but what  _business_ did he have calling upon Florianne so much of late?  _He_ was a fellow magister. 

“Why such a sour expression, Livius? You know if the wind changes, you’ll stay like that.” Even without all her Orlesian finery, she managed to look glamorous as she leaned back against one of the columns. He had grown accustomed to reading her expression behind her mask, and it was strange having the opportunity to see her without it so often. “I went to some trouble, requesting an audience with the Elder One for you.” He watched the way her cheeks moved as she smiled, knowingly.

“He doesn’t understand you like  _I_ do,” he sulked. Florianne laughed that carefree laugh of hers, like butterflies on a spring breeze and kissed him on the cheek.

“Don’t worry, I  _know.”_


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt "the first kiss".

The first time she’d met Erimond, he’d prattled on about the glory of Tevinter. For three weeks Florianne had listened to him drone on about his homeland. It was, perhaps, partly her own fault for encouraging him as she attempted to extract information on the Venatori or this  _Elder One_. She had learned little, and tonight he was oddly quiet. 

They had left the main party to sit in the palace gardens. It was a pleasant evening, and the fine spray of water from the fountain had been refreshing as they strolled past. The gardens were beautiful, she supposed, but she had tired of them long ago. She watched a small red squirrel climb the trellis, wondering if it found the gardens as dull as she did.

Several times, Erimond seemed as if he were about to speak, only to remain silent. He had been behaving strangely since he arrived at Halamshiral, bringing with him a little cake filled with cream and strawberries. Perhaps in Tevinter it was traditional to present the lady accompanying you with baked goods, though he had not mentioned it.

“We oughtto get back soon, Livius,” she said, drawing her fan to her lips. “I’m sure there are  _many_  ladies jealous that I am keeping you all to myself.”

“I very much doubt that” he replied, looking down to avoid her gaze. “There is only one lady here worthy of my time.”

“ _She_  must be very lucky,” Florianne opened and snapped her fan shut mischievously, before cupping his cheek with a lace gloved hand. “I had better leave before she discovers  _us_ together.” She pretended to stand, and smiled to herself as Erimond stopped her by placing his hand over hers. He was hesitant as he leaned forward, barely brushing his lips against hers, as though convinced she would turn him away. She laughed softly as their masks  _clinked_ together. 

_Everything was going according to plan._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> N.B. If anyone’s wondering about the cake, it’s very loosely based on a Lancashire Courting Cake.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt "a kiss below the waist".

Beneath all the frills and the ruffles, Florianne always wore silk stockings. Only the finest, most lustrous materials would do. Like everything she wore, they were lightly perfumed with the scent of just-picked flowers _-_ ylang absolute and cananga petals, paired with fragrant jasmine, rose absolute and orange flowers.

Erimond’s hands were soft and his nails trimmed, but still his fingers moved carefully over the silk, appreciating the curve of her thigh. She sighed softly as he pressed his lips to the exposed skin above the smooth, black stocking top and parted her legs slightly. 


	10. Chapter 10

Florianne arched her back against the dressing table mirror, pleasantly cool against her bare skin. He kissed her neck, the stubble on his cheek scratching against her shoulder, one finger lazily stroking her clit through the silk and lace. As always, he would continue like this until she forced him to his knees, and today she was in no mood to be teased.

She brought her hands to his shoulders in an unspoken command. Erimond smirked, but did not hesitate in dropping to his knees after slipping off her silky undergarments. In this respect he was, perhaps surprisingly, more eager than most men she’d known. Her hips twitched slightly as his tongue rolled over her clit in slow, precise motions, his pace barely any quicker than before, and Florianne sighed softly as she felt one finger slide carefully inside her, then another. She rocked her hips, fucking herself on his fingers, dimly aware that he’d begun to touch himself, in long, leisurely strokes. 

She grasped Erimond’s hair, twisting it between her fingers and pulling hard as she came with a small moan. He pressed a kiss between her legs, sliding his tongue over her clit one last time before struggling to get to his feet. Barely giving him time to regain his balance, Florianne took his cock in her hand, guiding him inside her. She smiled to herself. It was hard for him to continue looking so pleased with himself while he  _whimpered_  into her shoulder.  

The dressing table shook with each thrust, one set of pearls tumbling onto Erimond’s discarded robes. Her eyelids fluttered as his thumb rubbed against one of her nipples, his lips pressed against her neck again as his movements became more hurried. She reached up, closing her hands around his throat, and squeezed. The sound that escaped his lips was positively  _exquisite._

Erimond’s body slowed and his motions became more erratic as she applied more pressure, each laboured breath becoming fog on the mirror behind her. He coughed slightly when she slowly released her grip, reaching his climax with a strangled cry, his breath hot against her neck.

“So,” she said after a few moments of silence. “I take it you missed me, Livius?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "a nap".

Florianne sighed, her wrist against the cool metal of the bars between them. His fingers were curled so tightly around her hand that it was clear she would be here for some time. That was…inconvenient. It wasn’t that she wasn’t allowed to visit the cells, but she doubted that it would be encouraged. Especially when she was visiting a prisoner who also had ties to Corypheus and the Venatori. Especially when that person was Livius Erimond.

The first time she snuck down to the cells to visit him, he hadn’t been particularly keen to see her. She wasn’t surprised. She wondered if he’d realised that even as he’d berated her for defecting, he’d called her  _amata._ Either way, it didn’t matter - after all her years of playing  _The Game,_ it would have been impossible for her not to hear the intensity of feeling behind that word, however well he meant to hide it. She let him vent.

She looked up as she felt Livius squeeze her hand, but his soft snoring told her that he was still sleeping. He only seemed to be able to fall asleep when she or Aeliana came down to the dungeons. In Halamshiral, he’d had trouble sleeping in an unfamiliar room, and while her quarters had not been as luxurious as Celene’s, it was hardly a stretch to say that her bed was  _far_  more comfortable than a cot in a prison cell. Compared to this, even her room in Skyhold seemed _reasonable._

“How long?” he asked groggily, still holding her hand.  _Not long enough._ No matter how much he slept, he was always tired.

“About half an hour.” With her free hand she reached into a pouch and produced a small tin of moisturising cream, motioning for him to come closer to the bars.  

“I don’t care what I look like,” he muttered. Regardless, he obediently shuffled towards her.

“You should,” she told him, applying the cream to her fingertips and gently stroking the dark circles under his eyes. “Do you think I spend so long choosing the right gown because I have nothing  _better_ to do? With the appropriate mask and the correct shade of lipstick, I can have the world at my feet. Appearance _is_ important. That is why those ghastly boots of yours offend me so.”  _That,_ at least, earned her the shadow of a smile before she turned to leave.

“You are LordLivius Erimond of Vyrantium.  _Do not forget that.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Florianne’s comments on appearance were kinda inspired by Lebedeva’s speech in Catherynne Valente’s Deathless, which I’d highly recommend - one of my favourite books ever.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Erimond discovers Florianne keeps some very interesting things in her dressing table drawers.

He snapped the drawer shut, but he knew he’d been caught. Florianne might have smiled, but it was difficult to tell while she was adjusting her mask.

“Seen something you fancy?” He watched as her hands moved from her mask to her corset, expertly manipulating the velvet ribbons with well-practised motions.

“Besides yourself, my lady?” She looked up, just to roll her eyes at him.

“I confess I am unsure of the etiquette in Tevinter, but here in Orlais…would you believe that it is actually considered rude to poke around in a lady’s  _drawers_ without permission?” She waved her hand when he opened his mouth to protest, smirking as she turned her gaze towards his tousled hair. “There’s no need to be coy, Livius. You certainly weren’t earlier.”

“I didn’t mean to offend.” There was no point in lying to her. She could always tell.

“I’m sure I can think of some way you can make it up to me. Perhaps you could begin by answering the question.” A sweet smile and a honeyed tone was all it took.

“I was wondering what one of the…implements you have in there was made of.” If she had not been quite so well-versed in  _the_   _Game,_ she might have laughed. There was something delightful about a man in his late thirties getting so flustered over such things. Perhaps Tevinter’s nobility were far more sheltered than she’d been led to believe.

“Which  _implement_ would that be?” she asked, repeating the word with a straight face. When he blushed, she suspected she knew  _exactly_  what he was referring to. “If it’s piqued your interest, I’d dearly love to know.” 

“The…shiny one.” She smiled as she walked over to the dressing table, but it was the other drawer she opened, revealing a neatly arranged array of cosmetics.

“Oh,  _that’s_ the one you’re curious about? I must say I’m a little surprised. I didn’t expect you’d-”

“Don’t misunderstand,” he said, running his fingers through a section of hair in an attempt to untangle it. “I’m…only interested in knowing what it’s made of.” When he looked up her fingers were on  _that_ drawer knob, and before he could try to stop her, she’d retrieved the object in question.

“I can’t say I blame you though,” she continued, wriggling and adjusting her corset so that she could fasten the leather harness. Her fingers slid lazily over the attached phallus, glistening when it caught the light. The look on his face was well worth the trouble. “It israther stunning.”

“ _Kaffas,”_  he muttered, shaking his head. “I didn’t require a…demonstration.”

“Oh, a demonstration? Perhaps another time.” This time she did allow herself to laugh. “Try not to look  _quite_ so worried, Livius. If you actually look at it instead of at the floor, you’ll see what it’s made of.” She took his hand, guiding it over the smooth surface.

“…Dragonbone?”

“Yes,” she said, noticing that his fingers were now tracing its shape on their own. It wasn’t until she gave a gentle thrust that he abruptly withdrew his hand.

“I…have to meet with the other Venatori leaders this evening. I can’t be late - it’s very important.”

“Not even fashionably late?” She wrapped her fingers around the dragonbone again, watching his eyes follow her movements as he gathered his things together. But she let him go after he kissed her on the cheek. She just hoped for the Venatori’s sake that he was able to do a better job of hiding his erection during the meeting.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short drabble for the non-sexual intimacy prompt 'Having their hair washed by the other'. Set around the same time as the events of DA: Trespasser - shortly after Florianne and Livius have managed to slip away from Skyhold.

He leaned back in the bathtub as Florianne’s fingers teased through his hair, knotted by the days spent traipsing through Ferelden countryside. The winds had been bitter, and the tavern room barely kept the draughts at bay, but at least he’d managed to conjure a few flames in the fireplace.

“Have I told you before that many Orlesian nobles would kill for hair like yours, Livius?” He closed his eyes as she massaged the royal elfroot and peppermint oil onto his scalp.

“Are you saying I should be on the lookout for bards, too?” He scratched his chin, still unexpectedly smooth. He was not yet used to that - when he looked in Florianne’s mirror, he’d seen a barefaced stranger staring back.

“This close to Orlais, it’s  _always_ wise to be on the lookout for bards,” she said, applying a little more pressure to his scalp with her fingertips before carefully combing the oil through the lengths of his hair.

“Of course,  _you_ would know about that.” He winced as she tugged at a section of his hair. 

“If you intend to continue refusing to have your hair cut, you ought at least to learn to take care of it yourself,  _mon chéri,_ ” She noticed how he grinned at that and, after checking his eyes still were still shut, she even allowed herself a small smile.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Florianne gets ready to meet Erimond’s parents. He helps, or doesn’t help, depending on your viewpoint.

Florianne stood in front of the mirror to inspect her new dress - black silk and lace, adorned with golden thread as fine as any she might have found in Orlais. Perhaps Tevinter would not be so disagreeable.

“I’d say your sister has good taste. Wouldn’t you agree, Livius?” She smoothed the fabric that clung to her hips as she looked over her shoulder. “Oh, would you bring me the gold necklace with the garnets?” 

“They’re  _rubies_ _,_ ” he insisted. For the three years since he’d bought her that necklace, he’d refused to admit his mistake. Florianne shivered slightly as the chain encircled her neck, cool against her skin. “And I’m not sure you ought to give Aeliana  _all_ the credit.” 

“No?” She tilted her head as Livius fastened the clasp, then pressed his lips against her bare shoulder. She wondered how long it would be before she was used to the absence of facial hair. 

“No.” His hand slid down her side to her hip, tugging at the fabric. She laughed.

“Livius, from what you’ve told me of your mother…I doubt she’d approve of us being  _fashionably late.”_ She barely managed to suppress a moan as he lifted her skirts, fingers skimming across her lace underwear. 

“She doesn’t approve of much,” he murmured, the words thrumming against her neck as he kissed her. She moaned softly when he slipped his hand underneath the lace, tracing slow circles over her clit.

“ _Mon chéri,_ I have more than enough experience dealing with  _obnoxious_ Tevinters,” she smiled sweetly, glancing at him in the mirror. 

“Very funny.” Florianne gasped as one of his fingers slid inside her, and he kissed her again. “But you do not know Tevinter as well as you think.” She reached behind her back and began to unfasten his belt.

“I’m a quick learner.” She bent forward and rolled her hips as he pushed her underwear aside, holding his gaze in the mirror as he entered her, one finger still massaging her clit. 

“I know.” He sounded like he wanted to say something more, but was too distracted. She couldn’t blame him, especially as she felt her back arch against him, accompanied by the familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach. When her hips began to jerk back and forth, his movements became slower, gentler. He whined as she pushed back, urging him to hurry, but Livius was nothing if not obedient, and before too long she felt him trembling against her, gripping her hips to support himself. She couldn’t help but smirk.

“I take it you approve of the dress, then?”

“Amata,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek. “I approve of the woman  _in_ the dress.”


	15. Chapter 15

 

> For the tumblr prompt "it's only temporary". Set sometime after the main story of DA:I but pre-Trespasser I think.

The blade is cold against his skin, and it takes every effort for him not to wince. Not because of the sharpness of the razor as it grazes his throat - _no_ \- but at the thought of the end result.

He casts his gaze down towards the mess of dark hair, fallen into his lap. Most of it, in its former life, had been a finely oiled moustache. Now it was limp and dead. _Not unlike my ambitions._

Florianne hands him her mirror, its golden handle encrusted with sapphires. In another situation, he might have admired it. The man in the mirror is a stranger. Deep green stones for eyes, young-looking yet tired all at once. _Barefaced._

He most certainly is not Magister Livius Erimond of Vyrantium.

“The world is changing, _mon chéri._ We will not always need to hide. This?” she gestures towards their humble surroundings before her eyes turn to his newly naked face, “it’s only temporary.” She touches his skin and he almost feels like it might be true.


	16. Chapter 16

> For the tumblr prompt "turning the other off"

Florianne ignored the two elven servants dashing past on their way to the kitchens and slinked into the chapel, treading quietly across the ornately tiled floor. When she was absolutely sure they were alone she adjusted her movement so that her skirts rustled and her stilettos clicked against the marble.

“Livius! Fancy seeing you here,” she teased, tracing his jawline with a gloved finger. “Do you even _know_ the Chant of Light?”

“Of course,” he huffed. “And while certain verses may hold _meagre_ truths, I can’t say I much care for it.” 

“I take it you didn’t invite me here to discuss the finer points of Andrastrian faith.” She laughed softly when he pressed his lips to her throat, kissing her slowly and gently.

“I fear you know me too well. Did you bring…” He looked away as he trailed off, his cheeks looking especially red next to the smooth white silk of her gloves. She tilted her head, feigning ignorance.

“You know…” He had begun to whisper, even though they were alone. “Your… _implement_.” It was nigh on impossible to suppress her laughter.

“ _Implement?_ I’m afraid not, but perhaps I can find something suitable. I’m sure I saw a shovel in the gardens earlier. Or perhaps you’d prefer something from the kitchens - a whisk? A ladle?” 

“ _Fasta vass, amata,”_ he hissed, pulling away. “You know what I _meant.”_ Florianne was unable to hide her amusement any longer, shaking with silent laughter as he stormed off towards one of the tapestries, pretending to have some interest in studying its narrative.


End file.
